


embers and ash

by Sparrows



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (technically they're not babies any more but just roll with it ok), Gen, Genocide Route, baby blaster au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparrows/pseuds/Sparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something out in the forest is killing every monster it can find. And they're headed for Snowdin. AND Grillby's gone missing.</p><p>Sans and Papyrus decide to act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part I

The evacuation of Snowdin goes off without a hitch. There’s _something_ \- reports say it’s a human, but Sans has his doubts as to the actual _humanity_ of the thing - out there, in the forest that stretches from the ruins to the town, that’s killing people.

Killing everything, in fact. The Canine Unit of the Royal Guard is already dead, wiped out completely and their dust scattered by the subterranean wind; in their place are Sans and Papyrus, ushering people along into the boats bobbing at the river’s edge, making sure families - what few family members remain, in some cases - stick together. The plan had been arranged by Doctor Alphys, upriver in Hotland. She’d said there was a safe place for everyone, so long as they could reach her lab, and the river’s the fastest and easiest way to do it.

The Riverperson’s leading the grim procession, standing tall in their deep blue cloak and hood, an oar clenched in one ambiguously-coloured fist. When the last few people are seated in the boats, Sans and Papyrus nod to the Riverperson and they nod back, pushing off the first boat in the chain with a small, gritted-teeth _tra la la_.

The two brothers stand on the shore and watch the little magic-bound convoy float away down the river. The entire living population of Snowdin, save for two skeletons, is on those boats. Sans has his hands in his pockets, like he always does; Papyrus has one curled over the edge of his pelvis, the other worrying at the split edge of his lower jaw, gloved fingers running up along the outermost fang.

“SANS,” he says worriedly, as they watch the last of the townsfolk disappear around the bend. “I DIDN’T SEE GRILLBY IN THE BOATS.”

Sans shrugs, peering up at his brother. “he’s probably taking another route to get to hotland. i mean, he’s _made of fire_ , pap. not exactly a good idea to go sailing down a river, y’know?” But there’s worry on Sans’s face, too, the ridges of bone comprising his brows knotting together in concern. He looks between Papyrus, the river, and then twists around to look thoughtfully back at Snowdin behind them, now barren and empty of life.

Papyrus scuffs his boots against the ground, kicking up soft, wet drifts of snow and slush. “I KNOW, I KNOW. BUT IT WOULD MAKE ME FEEL BETTER,” he says, a little quieter than his usual boisterous tones, “TO CHECK THE BAR. MAYBE HE - MAYBE HE MISSED THE CALL TO EVACUATE? HE COULD STILL BE BACK THERE.”

“you might be right,” Sans says, rubbing one hand over the back of his skull. “we could go check before we leave, if you want. just in case,” he adds, but there’s a reluctance in his voice that makes Papyrus frown.

“I’M SURE HE’S FINE. I MEAN, HE HAS TO BE, HE’S _ALMOST_ AS GREAT AS I AM!!” Papyrus says, forcing a smile back onto his face and pounding the front of his battle-body. “BUT… BUT I JUST WANT TO MAKE SURE.”

Just as the pair turn to leave, Sans reaches up and snags Papyrus’s wrist in one hand, catching onto the thick glove that hides Papyrus’s claws. “hey, hold up a sec.”

“HMM? SANS, THIS IS NO TIME FOR JOKING AROUND! WE HAVE TO--”

“check on grillby, yeah, i know. but this is important,” he says, sockets dimming as the white lights of his eyes vanish. “pap, you gotta promise me something. the--” he pauses and glances away, like he’s looking for the right word, and closes his eyes a moment before opening them when he decides on “--human. if we find them, or they find us… promise me you’ll run.”

“YOU CAN’T SERIOUSLY BE ASKING ME TO LEAVE YOU BEHIND,” Papyrus says with a pained expression. “I CAN’T PROMISE THAT, SANS!”

“you have to or we’re not going, okay? **say it.** say you’ll run if we find the human. ” There’s a sort of _fire_ ignited in Sans’s eyes now that Papyrus doesn’t see there very often, something he might hesitantly call _determination_. He can’t say no.

“....FINE. IF WE GET TO THE BAR AND THE HUMAN’S THERE… I PROMISE I’LL RUN.”

“good. now let’s go.”

* * *

 

Snowdin’s empty, as expected. They evacuated _(almost)_ everyone, after all. The snow on the ground’s been churned up by the passage of many feet, turning it into a greyish slurry that doesn’t really _crunch_ under Papyrus’s feet the way it normally does. The childish disappointment barely registers below the worry that’s simmering away somewhere in Papyrus’s ribcage.

He keeps checking the corners of buildings, the shadows that seem to linger where they never had before - looking for anything that looks small and human-y. Papyrus isn’t certain what a human _looks_ like, really; he’s sure he should know considering what he and Sans were originally intended for, but he’s never seen one himself. But really, it’s safe to assume that anyone left in Snowdin isn’t going to have very good reasons for being there, so Papyrus just keeps his eyes trained on all the hiding spots he can think of.

Sans takes the lead, for once, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other up by his mouth. His jaw works gently; Papyrus thinks he might be biting the tips of his claws. It’s an awful habit, one he’s had since they were young, one Papyrus _thought_ his brother had grown comfortable enough in his new home to drop, but - nothing’s as it should be, these days, he thinks.

It doesn’t take long to walk from the riverside to the center of town. As they walk, Sans and Papyrus pass the houses they’d only an hour ago been ushering people out of. There, the house where the family of slimes live; just down the path from them is Ice Wolf’s home. Neither of them can bear to look at some of the houses, like the Drake family’s home or any of the various kennel-like buildings the Royal Guard had lived in. The town feels like an empty grave and an open wound all at once.

They approach the main plaza carefully, warily looking around before they slink around the edge. There hadn’t been enough survivors out in the forest to give a good enough estimate on how close to the town the human’s come; for all the skeleton brothers know, they might already be _in_ the town, waiting for them. Waiting for the right moment to strike.

A coldness that has nothing to do with the snow creeps up Papyrus’s spine.

They pass the bauble-burdened gift tree in silence - Papyrus spares a brief glance for the presents abandoned beneath it, their wrapping soaked through by half-melted snow, but he’s finding it hard to care considering that many of the gifts down there will now never be opened - and stand in front of Grillby’s before too long. They’re both lit by the neon, drenched in the light that pools around them.

Sans stops in his tracks and turns back to Papyrus, staring up at him with wide, horrified eyes. It isn’t hard to see why.

 

The door’s hanging off it’s hinges.

 

There’s a noise coming from inside.

 

 

_Laughter._


	2. part II

Sans is the first one to step inside the bar, Papyrus following close behind. Together they effectively block the doorway; whoever’s in here isn’t getting out without going through them first.

There’s a child sitting cross-legged on the floor. They’re wearing a striped sweater that was probably blue and purple at some point, before thick white dust coated it from wrist to elbow. They’re facing away from the door, with their hands in their lap, like they’re… playing with something?

The child’s shoulders are shaking. It sounds like laughter. Or maybe it sounds like tears. It’s impossible to tell.

Papyrus steps forward. “WHERE’S GRILLBY?” he demands. “EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE EVACUATED BY NOW.” He pauses to let the child respond, but they just keep up that weird laugh-cry sound and he sighs. “IT ISN’T SAFE,” he continues, taking a step forward, carefully reaching his hands outwards in a welcoming gesture. “THERE’S A VERY DANGEROUS HUMAN ON THE LOOSE, FRIEND! YOU NEED TO COME WITH US.”

“pap,” Sans manages to choke out. “that’s not a friend.” When Papyrus looks down, Sans’s eyes have pulled into tight pinpricks and he’s not looking away. “we need to leave, **right now**.”

The child seems to finally realise the skeletons are there. Slowly they stand up, keeping something tucked close to their chest with one hand, using the other to push off of the floor and then scoop up something suspiciously knife-shaped. Their knees scrape against the polished floorboards.

It’s only when the child stands up that Papyrus notices he can smell smoke. There’s fire burning on the walls, the floor, the sort of self-contained flames only one person in Snowdin is capable of making.

“ **we need to leave we need to leave we need--** ”

The child turns around and holds out their hand.

The object grasped between their fingers is about the size of a ping-pong ball. It glows with a soft golden light that flickers gently, the very deepest point of it occasionally pulsing white like a heartbeat. There are cracks along its surface that share that same white light.

The child - the _human_ , Papyrus realises with a sort of creeping horror, that’s the _human from the forest_ \- looks at the glowing core in their hand, head tilted curiously like a bird…

...and abruptly closes their fist.

The core _shatters_ , its light winking out like a snuffed candle. Dust trickles down between the human’s fingers and drifts to the floor.

All around the room, the fires go out.

Sans immediately leaps forward, snarling; he’s shifted, so violently that the tattered remains of his clothes are still tangled around his bones. He’s grown since they were children, obviously, but not by much - he reaches about mid-way up Papyrus’s femur on all fours like this.

Papyrus looks between his brother and the human.

He’d promised. He’d _promised_ . The two of them, they never made promises they weren’t going to keep - but he can’t just _leave_ , not when he’s just watched a human shatter his father’s core right in front of him, and _laugh_ as they did it.

And he knows - he knows if he leaves, Sans is going to fight, and… he knows Sans only has one HP. If the human so much as _taps_ him--

Papyrus scowls. He’s not going to lose all his family in one day.

“I’M SORRY, SANS,” he says, quietly, and with a wave of his hand he picks Sans up in the glow of his blue magic. He hovers there for a moment, suspended in a soft light, confusion shifting to shock and then into betrayal - and Papyrus sweeps his hand backwards.

Sans goes hurtling out into the snow. He bounces through a drift and comes to rest at the base of the gift-tree, impact cushioned by boxes - Papyrus watches from the doorway for a moment, making sure he didn’t _actually_ harm his brother (now wouldn’t that be something, to kill his own brother while trying to keep him safe), but when Sans staggers to all four paws he turns away. He can’t bear to look his brother in the eyes.

The door’s beyond saving, so Papyrus blocks the way with bones instead. They crackle into life and cast a gentle white glow behind him. With the only feasible exit from the room barred, Papyrus takes a deep breath (despite not having lungs) and steps forward.

“YOU SEEM VERY CONFLICTED, HUMAN,” he says gently. He ignores the furious screeching outside. “AND VERY SCARED.”

The human stares at him. They aren’t laughing any more, just staring at him. Their eyes are very big, and very round. Their shoulders are slumped and their arms hang limply at their sides, though they still have the thing they were holding earlier - Papyrus glances down for a moment. _Oh,_ he thinks faintly. _A knife. Of course._

Papyrus kneels down. Very, very carefully, he holds out his hands. There’s a memory, deep down, of looking up at someone much bigger than himself doing this exact same thing. Kneeling down in the snow and holding his arms out. Papyrus feels his eyes sting and he squeezes them shut for a moment to stave off the tears. _Don’t look at it._

“BUT THAT’S OKAY, HUMAN. WE - MY BROTHER AND I - WE WERE SCARED, TOO! WE WERE SCARED, AND SAD, AND SO VERY ALONE. BUT GRILLBY, HE SHOWED US KINDNESS…”

Papyrus smiles. He has to force it a little, and the corners of his mouth ache. His hands are shivering and he keeps having to remind himself not to look down - not at the knife, not at the gold-tinted dust on the floor. The human’s shaking, too. Is that a good sign? Papyrus isn’t familiar with human body language.

“...EVEN WHEN SANS ATTACKED HIM, GRILLBY WAS NICE. SANS LASHED OUT BECAUSE HE WAS SCARED. I-IF THAT’S WHY YOU… DID WHAT YOU DID… IT’S OKAY. YOU WERE FRIGHTENED AND ALONE, JUST LIKE US. BUT WE GOT BETTER! AND SO CAN YOU! I KNOW YOU CAN!!”

 

The human steps forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one down.
> 
> two left.


	3. part III

**he promised he promised he promised he promised**

Sans lies in the snow and screeches as loudly as he can. It’s so loud that he can feel the bones of his skull resonate with it, aching all the way down his spine to the tip of his tail, but he can’t stop himself. Papyrus had _said he would run_ and then he _didn’t_ and Sans howls into the darkness because there’s no way to stop him, now. He’d never gotten a proper handle on his teleportation, after all.

Through the glowing bones Sans can see Papyrus kneeling down, the human barely visible as a smudge of colour just beyond. Sans whines miserably as he paces, back and forth back and forth, in front of the blocked-off doorway. He can’t just charge through the bone attack, not the way another monster could; the _fact_ that he can’t is probably why Papyrus blocked the entrance like that to begin with.

So instead he’s out _here_ and his brother is in _there_ and his father is - his father - is

Sans throws himself head-first into the snow and scratches with both forepaws at the top of his skull. He digs his claws in hard enough that he feels the bone scratch and gouge, feels the answering shudder of pain, and he feels viciously pleased with himself because he  _deserves this_ for not making sure Papyrus kept his promise.

Then a thought occurs to him.

The fire exit. Sure, he’s not made of fire. But it’s his only other chance to get into the building and he’s so, so desperate. Sans nearly slides in the grey, slushy snow as he races around the the back of the building, skidding to a halt right outside the back door in a spray of wet snow.

The fire exit to Grillby’s bar is made of metal, too heavy for Sans to shift normally. But his _brother_ is in there, his _only remaining family_ , and against that sort of determination a door? A door is _nothing_.

He feels the blast charging before he even wills it to, and Sans crouches low against the ground. He’s had precious little practice recently with using his powers, but it’s muscle memory - or whatever the equivalent is, for a monster without muscles - that puts him into the right stance. All four legs spread out wide to anchor himself, claws hooked in, tail stretched out to act as a fifth balance…

He breathes in and tastes magic in his mouth, sugary-sweet to the point of being sickening, cut in with the sharp sourness of lemons. It’s all placebo, of course; he’s not actually tasting anything, but for a moment his soul is utterly convinced that he _is_.

Sans charges the beam, and then he lets it go.

* * *

 

Papyrus grins widely as the human steps closer. “WOWIE!!” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to bask in the satisfaction. The human walks very strangely, he thinks. It’s more of a… shuffle, really. Their feet drag over the polished-and-charred floorboards. “IT’S ALREADY WORKING! I’M NOT GOING TO HARM YOU, HUMAN. YOU CAN PUT THE KN--”

There’s a sudden pain across his chest. He looks down.

The front of his battle-body's been ripped open. He can see shattered ribs underneath. The broken ends are turning to dust as he watches, filtering down and getting caught in his clothes.

“OH,” he says, faintly. “I… I WASN’T… EXPECTING THAT.”

The human drops the knife to one side and stares at him. Papyrus lowers his hands, fingertips gently touching the giant gash in his clothes. It doesn’t hurt like he thought it would. He feels a little cold, maybe, a little empty.

But it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt. His feet turn to dust, his legs disintegrate, his ribcage turns to powder from the inside out - and his head drops to the ground, and none of it hurts at all.

It’s almost funny. At least he landed on his scarf. Papyrus smiles. He can’t go, not yet, not when there’s still so much to say. He can hold on a little longer, just for that. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, HUMAN,” he says. “E-EVEN IF… IT DOESN’T SEEM LIKE IT… RIGHT NOW.”

They stare at him. Their eyes are dull, flat, with no shine to them at all. Their face seems - he’s not an expert on human faces at the best of times, and this is _not_ the best of times to put it mildly - bored? Uninterested? Certainly _neutral_ , if nothing else.

They yawn. _Humans have very flat teeth_ , Papyrus observes, in that disjointed, faintly-amused way reserved for the dying.

“Y-YOU CAN BE GOOD... IF YOU JUST TRY A LITTLE HARDER,” he says, and then the human barks out a short, sharp laugh.They stare at him with those strange, dull eyes, and they smile. They crouch down, reaching out with both hands, either side of Papyrus's head, like they're going to pick him up.

 

The fire exit explodes in a spray of metal.

Sans bounds through on all fours, skittering to try and get a grip, and he has to dig his claws into the floorboards to keep from sliding too far. There’s flames - normal ones, this time - licking around the edges of the doorway but he ignores them to stare at the child crouched in front of-

 

in… front of…

 

No.

No no no no.

_No, this isn’t happening._

 

Sans stares at the human, then at the heap of dust and fabric and the skull that is his brother.

He’s already charging up for a second blast. Usually he can’t manage them this quickly, he has to rest after each one, but, but he can make _exceptions_ , just this _once_ , can’t he?

The child laughs, high and bright and sharper than a plastic toy knife that’s been sharpened against a rock by tiny little hands. They _laugh_ and stand up straight and dart out of the doorway, feet pattering against the wood, like it’s all just a game.

Sans snaps his mouth shut so hard his fangs ache and hurls himself out of the door. He splashes down through the snow, feeling the coldness of it spatter up along his sides, but he doesn’t care because he needs to hunt down the human and _break_ them between his _teeth_ like he was _designed to do_.

They’re gone. They’re gone, somehow. He stands in the empty center of Snowdin and stares both ways down the main street and there’s no sign of them. It’s like the human was never there to begin with. Sans feels frustration build up white-hot behind his eyes.

“S-SANS….?”

The sound of his brother’s voice - week, feeble, barely carrying through the utterly-still air - snaps Sans back to reality.

He’d thought - he’d assumed from all the dust that Papyrus was already-- He abandons any reckless idea of chasing the human down and instead rushes back into Grillby’s, shifting when he gets through the doorway.

Papyrus’s skull is lying nestled in his scarf, abandoned on the floor like a piece of trash. Sans kneels down in front of his brother, reaching out to pick him up and then snatching his hands back at the last possible moment. He doesn’t want to hurt his brother. But… is there any way to hurt Papyrus more than he already has been?

“papyrus,” he whispers desperately, leaning in. “i’m here, buddy, i’m here, i’m not going to leave you behind…”

“SANS, I-I’M SCARED,” his brother says, eyesockets wide. He’s not smiling any more; his skull is somewhere between humanoid and blaster, a shift forced by stress and maybe pain. “I’M SORRY, I SAID I WOULD RUN A-AND I DIDN’T--”

Sans shakes his head. “i don’t care about that. i care that you’re hurt.” Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it. There’s ‘fallen down’, and then there’s… _this_. What is Sans supposed to do? He reaches out again, claws barely brushing the surface of Papyrus’s skull before he pulls them back. They come back dusty, trailing it through the air.

“i don’t know what to do,” he says quietly, curling his fingers into fists. He can feel the soft grit of dust between them; the texture makes him feel sick. Tears sting at the outer corners of his eyesockets. “pap, i can’t-- i can’t _fix_ this. you know that, right?”

“I KNOW.” Sans reaches forward again, carefully cupping his hands around Papyrus’s skull and lifting him out of his scarf. He feels too light, too fragile; Papyrus had been the larger, stronger brother for years and the sudden reversal now - Sans holds his brother close against his chest. “I’M SCARED,” Papyrus says again, quieter this time.

“i’m here. i’m here, buddy. i’m always gonna be here.” Sans keeps it up, whispering the words over and over again, saying anything he can think of just to fill the silent air. He’s not sure how long he sits there, cradling his brother’s skull, until suddenly - he isn’t, any more.

 

Papyrus’s skull bursts into dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two down.
> 
> one left.


	4. part IV

After he leaves Snowdin with Papyrus’s scarf tucked around his neck and Grillby’s favourite bow-tie pushed into one pocket, Sans makes a beeline for the Royal Scientist’s lab.

No.

Not that one.

The _other_ Royal Scientist. The one nobody remembers any more. And they don’t remember him because Sans had-- had done something _terrible_ , a long time ago, but he’d done it to protect his family.

Alphys’ aboveground laboratory-slash-living space is empty; she’s busy spearheading the evacuation, after all. No time to sit around when you’re finally being spurred into action by the deaths of so many people. Sans knows the feeling. He ignores the scattered papers, the half-eaten cups of instant noodles, the empty bags of popato chisps, and heads straight for the hidden elevator that will take him where he needs to go.

It’s been a long time since he’s been back here. Sans keys in the old code into the keypad and holds his breath until the light switches from red to green - and the elevator descends. Down, further down, the furthest down it will go. He can feel panic beginning to swell in his chest as the bad memories return, and Sans has to lean against the wall of the elevator for support, running his claws over the still-dusty surface of Papyrus’s scarf. It had been a gift from Grillby.

He takes a few deep breathes to remind himself: _he_ can’t hurt them anymore. These labs are empty. Only Ga-- _he_ had been allowed down this far. It takes a special code to force the elevator down and there’s only a handful of people who know it. There are even fewer now, Sans thinks, and it takes him the rest of the elevator ride to calm down after that thought.

Finally, the elevator stops with a buzz. When Sans steps out, he steps out into the exact same lab that features in every single nightmare he’s ever had. That he’s back here at all is a testament to how dire the situation is, but, well...

There are some things that are too important to let slip by. And Sans supposes something like the destruction of the entire timeline would be considered important by just about anyone, so here he is.

The syringes are right where he remembers them. Sans slips one into his pocket, capped and waiting to be used, before picking up a second from its case. He rolls up the left sleeve of his jacket, revealing the thin black lines of the barcode and serial number _he’d_ burned into Sans’s bones so long ago.

Sans pushes down the memories again. He can break down later; right now he’s got a job to do. He uncaps the syringe and carefully presses the tip of it to his ulna. The needles - he remembers the needles are supposed to be specially treated to penetrate bone the way they would normal monster flesh; he can only hope that treatment hasn’t faded in the intervening years…

The sharp stabbing pain a moment later is Sans’s answer and he snarls between gritted teeth, pushing the syringe until he feels it hit about the right depth. Then he stops, thumb over the plunger.

He’s doing this for Papyrus and Grillby, and the Royal Guard dogs, and everyone the human has killed between Snowdin and the CORE. He’s doing this to save the timeline.

It’ll be worth it, he thinks, jamming his thumb down on the syringe plunger. _It’ll be worth it._

 

* * *

 

 

Sans paces restlessly back and forth in the Final Corridor. His claws clack against the tiled floor - he’s transformed partway, had done not long after the injection, because he’d felt an itch deep down in his bones and this had been the only way to relieve it. The front of his skull elongates into a muzzle, matched by the rounded nubs jutting from the back of his head. He’s still upright, though his feet and hands are clawed and his tail flicks impatiently behind him.

He wants to fight. He _needs_ to. Seeing the human destroy Grillby and kill Papyrus - it had ignited something in him, a ferocity that all of _his_ experiments hadn’t been able to muster. He’d been made to kill humans, after all. And he’ll have a fight, soon, because this is the only way through to Asgore’s chambers - and, by extension, through to the barrier.

Sans stops in mid-step when footsteps at the far end of the hall grab his attention. He turns, jams his hands into his pockets, and waits. The human’s standing near the doorway; he can see them from here, standing their with one hand clutching something that’s definitely a knife, the other gripping their hair by the root.

A sound echoes off the walls, bounces from the windows and pillars. It’s not quite laughter, but not quite crying either; it’s some hysterical mixture of the two, raw and painful and the noise chills Sans down to his soul. The noise fades into silence The human, their emotional breakdown having apparently ended for now, turns and begins their slow shuffling walk up the hallway. The sight of it sends a shiver down Sans’s vertebrae. It reminds him of the shambling way zombies had walked in some of the old horror movies he’d found at the dump and watched one day while Papyrus wasn’t around.

They come close (within blaster range, Sans notes with satisfaction) and then stop, swaying on the spot. The human looks up at him and - there’s that smile again. That flat, dull-eyed smile. The same look they’d worn when Sans had found them standing over his brother’s body.

“heya,” Sans says, keeping his voice even with some difficulty. “y’know, normally i’d have this whole speech planned out, but, uh. i really don’t care. or is it that i care too much..?” he muses, pulling his hands out of his pocket. He’d prepared a little something special, just for this.

The ketchup bottle gleams in the reflected golden light when Sans flips it back and forth between his hands. To anybody else it just looks like normal ketchup, salvaged from behind a certain bar. He uncaps it and gestures with the neck of the bottle towards the human. “i’m gonna be nice and give you a warning. _do you wanna have a bad time?_ ‘cause if you take one step forward… you are REALLY not gonna like what happens next.”

The human laughs, like Sans just shared the best-worst pun in the world instead of threatening them with violence. They raise their head, look Sans in the eye - and step forward, very deliberately. Sans sighs and shrugs. He raises the uncapped bottle to his mouth and drains the whole thing in three solid chugs; it burns on the way down, leaving his whole body searing. He wipes his mouth with one sleeve and savours the feeling hammering down through his bones. That feeling...

It fills him with _determination_.

“welp. don’t say i didn’t warn ya, kid.”

 

* * *

 

 

“...all right, that’s it,” Sans says eventually. It feels like it’s been hours since the human stepped into the hallway, but it’s only been minutes. He’s gasping for breath. He feels shivery, shaky, like he’s coming apart at the seams, and it takes all of Sans’s willpower to hold himself together. He can barely stand; he thinks if it were the human’s turn right now, he’d be a sitting duck.

“it’s time… it’s time for my special attack,” he says, forcing himself to stand up straight. He puts his hands back into his pockets and takes a deep, steadying breath. “here goes nothing.”

The human freezes, gripping their knife. Sans grins as he watches emotions flick past on their face - fear, then confusion, then annoyance.

“yep,” he chuckles, gesturing with a hand. “it’s literally nothing. and it’s not gonna _be_ anything, either. i mean, i know i can’t beat you, and i can’t dodge you forever, either. so instead of letting you kill me... we’re just gonna stand here. just like this. til the end of time, if we have to. however long it takes for you to get bored and give up. _capiche?_ ”

The human stares at him. Sans stares at the human.

“say, uh, while we’re here. i gotta know: why’d you go after grillby? he wasn’t in your way or anything. you didn’t even have to go into the bar.” Sans shrugs. “were you just being thorough? just making sure?”

The human frowns faintly. They fold their arms - still clutching the knife - and look away for a moment before flicking their gaze back to him. Their lips move, sometimes, like they’re talking to themself, but Sans can’t make out any words.

“see, what’s what i don’t understand. you _could_ have just left my dad alone. you could have just passed through and been on your way. but you checked in grillby’s, you found him, and you… you…”

Sans closes his eyes. He sucks in a deep breath, bifurcated lower jaws flexing outwards just a tad as he struggles to keep control over his shaking voice. “i just wanted to know _why_ ,” he says, once he’s sure that he isn’t going to crack. “but… you’re the kind of kid who’s never gonna be satisfied with _not_ doing something, aren’tcha? you see something you can do, and you think that because you _can_ , that means you _should_ . that you _have to_.”

The human lunges for him, knife outstretched, and Sans opens one eye and effortlessly flicks the human a few feet backwards. Their feet skid on the tiles a little and he tuts disapprovingly at them. “i said we were gonna stand here, kid, so that’s exactly what we’re gonna do. i mean, you could always--” he stops and yawns “--just give up. you could turn around and leave and i wouldn’t stop you.”

Another desperate attack. Another backwards slide courtesy of his blue magic. The human glares at him, flipping the knife around in their hand. They make two more swipes and then, when both of those attempts are met with a quick flare of magic, they stand back and fold their arms.

The minutes tick by slowly. Sans rocks back and forth on his shifted feet, claws clicking against the tile. He’s so tired. And it’s so, so hard to focus past the determination accumulating in his body. He runs at a higher baseline of the stuff, and the he went and gave himself two shots of the stuff… he’d burned off most it in the fight but Sans is still shaking.

It won’t hurt to close his eyes. He’ll hear the human if they decide to move, won’t he? He just needs a moment. Sans lets out a long, unsteady breath, and…

..there’s a near-silent rustling of cloth. Sans jolts awake and feels his magic flare up; he jumps a foot to the left in a shower of blue sparks and laughs.

“didja really think-- _hhh hh h_ ”

They’re not supposed to be able to move that fast. Sans chokes on the laughter and looks down. There’s a gaping hole in the front of his shirt. The edges of it are dark with ketchup, oozing and dripping to the floor in a laughable mockery of human blood. He touches a finger to the mess on his shirt and blinks at it, rubbing his fingers together and watching red smear against the bone. His legs give out and Sans topples backwards, landing with a thud onto the floor.

“welp,” he mumbles, wiping his hand clean against his jacket. He ignores the smear of soft, powdery dust that scrapes off of his palm and onto the fabric. “don’t say i didn’t warn ya.” Sans presses both hands against the ground and struggles to his feet. With a mocking, snide laugh the human steps back exaggeratedly, giving him space - isn’t that nice of them.

He shoves his hands into his pockets once he’s stood up. He squares his shoulders and ignores the cold sensation in the center of his chest, forcing a smile back onto his face. The human has their arms folded, watching him.

“i’m goin’ to grillby’s,” he slurs, turning on the spot and beginning to walk back towards the entrance to the corridor. He feels the human’s eyes on his back as he stumbles and staggers away, but when he looks back up the hall, they’re gone. The banner hanging up near the door is smeared with dust and fluttering gently; the human must have knocked it on their way past.

With a relieved sigh Sans lets his legs give out, feeling them tremble for a moment before he collapses to the floor. A part of him actually _does_ want to go to Grillby’s, but the moment he reaches for the magic Sans knows he’s not going to be able to do it. He sighs instead, leaning back against one of the numerous pillars studding the walls.

Too much determination, he thinks. Monsters aren’t supposed to hang around like this. It’s that higher baseline coming back to bite him in the ass.

“SANS!”

A familiar voice snaps Sans out of his fugue, and he struggles to prop himself up a little straighter against the pillar. He looks around frantically until he sees - there! Walking down the hallway!

“YOU LAZYBONES. IT’S JUST LIKE YOU TO BE SITTING AROUND,” Papyrus says, shaking his head as he draws near; he’s smiling fondly, though, and Sans huffs out a weak laugh.

“you know me, bro,” Sans says. “always hated putting a skele- _ton_ of effort into anything.” He shrugs and hisses briefly, feeling a spike of pain through his ribcage at the motion. By the time Sans looks back up, Papyrus is stood directly in front of him. He’s not wearing his scarf, Sans notices. With trembling hands he reaches up as if to pull it from his neck, but Papyrus just shakes his head.

“NO, YOU KEEP IT,” he says, then looks off to one side. His face lights up in a wide smile. “OH, GRILLBY! YOU MADE IT AFTER ALL!”

The sound of crackling flames seems oddly quiet in the vast, near-empty hallway; it doesn’t echo off the walls like Sans is certain it should. Grillby himself is just as calm and composed as ever, walking with his hands clasped behind his back. He comes to a stop beside Papyrus and looks down at Sans.

He doesn’t speak, but the hand held out, palm-upwards in invitation, says enough. He pauses, though, when Sans looks between the two - between his brother and his father.

“sorry, guys,” he says quietly. His eyes flick sideways, towards the far end of the hall, where the human had been only minutes ago. “i kinda messed up, didn’t i…? i mean. i was s’posed to… i was gonna stop the human… and i fucked it up.”

“... _It’s okay, Sans,_ ” Grillby says gently. His voice sounds like the pop and crackle of fresh firewood, undercut with the deep rumble of a roaring bonfire. “... _You tried your best. Isn’t that all I’ve ever asked of you? ...Of the two of you?”_

“heh. guess you’re right.” Sans shrugs again. He carefully ignores the pain this time. His family’s here. That’s all he needs right now. Grillby holds out his hand again. “what, you want me to come with?”

“OF COURSE! WE’RE GOING HOME, AREN’T WE?” Papyrus says cheerfully. He’s practically bouncing on the spot. “TOGETHER.”

“ _Together._ ”

Sans smiles. “sounds good to me,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment before leaning forward. His hand settles neatly into Grillby’s palm. The flames lick warmly against his bones. He’s reminded of the first time he’d taken Grillby’s hand, all those years ago, when he’d just been a scared little kid rooting around in the trash. It’s been a long time since he felt like that.

“together.”

 

Dust scatters against the tile. The golden hallway falls silent.

Hidden past the edge of the doorway, the human child smiles, turns, and leaves. They’ve got places to go, after all, and kings to meet.

 

 

 

( _And somewhere far away - in another timeline, perhaps, one that has already happened or has yet to be born:_

_"...Hello. My name is Grillby. ...What is yours?"_

_".......sans. sans the skeleton.")_


End file.
